


shiver in streams

by brokendrums



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bonfires, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Samhain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-08-28 16:55:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8454379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokendrums/pseuds/brokendrums
Summary: Zayn only appears to Niall and Harry a few times a year. Halloween is always particularly special.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For Day Two of [Zarriall Week](http://zarriallweek.tumblr.com/). Sorry, it's a few days late!!
> 
> Title from Eden - Ben Khan
> 
> Happy Halloween!

Harry’s already up when Niall wakes. He can hear the rain battering off the windowpane, the wind making it rattle in the loose frame. Niall pulls the duvet up over his bare shoulder and buries his nose in the warm space between the pillow and the sheets. 

It smells of Harry -- all peppery cologne and cocoa butter moisturiser -- and slightly stale from underuse. It’s been nearly six weeks since they’ve been here, Niall’s work in the studio taking up all of his time and Harry on a mission to fill their flat with mismatched furniture from every car-boot sale and antiques fair he can find on the weekends. Niall likes the routine they’ve fell into where it’s a few pints on a Saturday evening and lazy Sunday brunching. 

But it means that the cottage has fell slightly to the back of his mind -- Niall had meant to repaint it this year, finally give the place a well needed re-vamp and fixing up but summer had bled into autumn and it’s already the end of October. 

“Oh,” Harry says, a little breathless from running up the stairs. “You’re up.”

Niall stays still. He hasn’t even opened his eyes yet, he doesn’t know how Harry can always tell.

Harry collapses down beside him, the duvet pulling tight over Niall’s waist. He’s been outside if the chill emanating off his skin is anything to go by.

“Fuck off,” Niall tells him eloquently, jerking away when Harry presses his damp face close to Niall’s, sharing his pillow.

“And a happy halloween to you too,” Harry singsongs quietly, pressing his lips to the point of Niall’s nose. His mouth is the only part of him that’s warm so Niall doesn’t mind so much. His freezing fingers burrowing into his quilted cocoon would be an entirely different matter. 

“You missed sunrise,” Harry adds, quieter this time and Niall can hear the disappointment in it. 

Niall cracks an eye open to see his equally sad expression. “I always miss sunrise,” Niall says gently, pressing forward to give him a quick kiss. “You only saw it because you haven’t been to sleep yet.” 

Harry looks adequately mollified, his cheeks pink from the cold and he’s smiling when he pulls away from his kiss. “It’s a Samhain tradition.”

Niall sighs, corrects his pronunciation. “S _ow_ -in.” 

Harry dutifully ignores him, as usual. “It was magical, as ever,” he says dreamily, his eyes going vacant for a moment.

Niall huffs a laugh, wriggling a hand out from underneath the taut duvet to pull him closer. He’s lost whatever coat he had been wearing outside but the front of his shirt is still slightly damp. Niall curls his fingers in it and pulls him close enough to kiss him. 

“Tell me about it,” Niall whispers, his voice quiet. 

Harry’s eyelashes flutter and he wriggles closer, pressing his cheek into the soft pillow. “It never feels real, does it? This house. All the sea air. The pale pinks and lilacs emerging from the grey.”

Niall grins, he loves it when Harry gets into his rambling funks. He always manages to make the bullshit sound pretty.

“Lilacs,” Niall hums, stretching his fingers to press against Harry’s skull, his thumb at his jaw. “Lilacs in October.”

“And pinks,” Harry clarifies, his mouth turning up into a smile. Niall wants to kiss him, feel his lips against his skin. “It was misty out over the west. The sound of the ocean was hypnotic, soothing. You could feel the magic in the still morning air.”

“Magical.” Niall laughs and presses forward the last inch to kiss him. 

Harry sighs into it, eagerly opening his mouth to deepen the kiss. Niall smiles against him, rolls onto his back slightly so he can feel the weight of Harry against his chest, pressing him into their old mattress. 

The bed had been here when they first came here -- a strange cottage that Niall’s great-uncle left him in his will. Niall has vague memories of coming here as a child, the wet and windy summers that they spent on the Clare coast when Niall was very young before his mam whisked him off to New York to see her sisters and Niall grew too old for entire seasons away from his friends at home. He has even vaguer memories of his great-uncle, an old man that seemed as old as time, his face wistful and weathered by the ocean, who would slip Niall sherbert lemons or a Punt as big as his palm when his parents weren’t looking. 

Niall had been surprised to hear about his death, having assumed he’d died long ago and was even more surprised to hear that out of all of his cousins, Niall was the one to receive the cottage. 

The first time they were here, Niall had found a cupboard with a tricky latch that brought back memories of Greg locking him inside, Niall pounding on the door until Bobby had found him in a state curled at the bottom. It had nearly made Niall want to stop exploring, afraid of what else he’d find in the nooks and crannies of the dilapidated building. He’d have happily boarded up the windows and fucked off back to the city. But Harry had stopped him, stating that something felt special about the place. 

The very next night, they had found Zayn, so Niall supposes it wasn’t too bad.

Harry had fell in love immediately -- magically so -- so it made sense to make regular trips back. Niall isn’t sure if he believes in magic but slowly, Niall had fell in love too. 

“Wait,” Niall murmurs against Harry’s lips, tugging on his hair to make him draw back abit. Harry gasps, his eyelids fluttering and Niall grins, watching as his mouth opens in pleasure. 

“What?” Harry asks, impatient. He’s still a little bit sniffly from the morning, his nose red from where he’s been blowing it. 

“The duvet,” Niall tells him, trying to kick his legs under the covers. They’re pulled too tight with the way they’re wrapped around him. Harry opens his eyes, glances down at the twisted sheets. “I can hardly move.”

“Kinky,” Harry comments, rolling off him to lie on his back on the other side of the bed. Niall groans at the lack of pressure against him, wriggling about until he can kick the duvet to the bottom of the bed. It’s frigid in the room, the air seeping in through the single paned windows. Harry’s pulled the curtains open too so there isn’t even a barrier against the cold. 

“Fuck,” Niall says, shivering. Harry rolls his head so he can look at him across the mattress. He grins, his eyes trailing down Niall’s bare chest where his nipples have pricked up against the cold. “Come back here.” 

Harry dodges his wandering his hands. Niall whines when he pushes himself up and off the bed. “Later,” Harry promises, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter. “We’ve got things to be doing today.”

“No,” Niall says, reaching to tangle his fingers in the back of Harry’s shirt. “We have enough time.”

“You should’ve got up at sunrise, then,” Harry tells him, leaning over to kiss him again. Niall groans, shivering again as Harry licks across his lips teasingly and then pulls away. “Come on. Up you get.”

The sole bathroom in the cottage is as frigid as the rest of the top floor but it has the best view of outside. Even if you press your nose to the glass and try to look down you can’t see the ground below, as if the bathroom is floating in the sea already. For that reason, they had decided to leave it unfrosted, the view too scenic to hide in the aim of modesty. 

He forgoes the lightswitch, so it’s still dim and full of blue-grey shadows as he turns the taps in the tub and he turns to the window. It’s grey out today, the lilacs and pinks of Harry’s sunrise gone. The wind and rain nearly obscure the powerful white tops of the waves. From here, Niall can’t see the stone beach but he knows there’ll be no one on it anyway.

They haven’t been brave enough to try and have a bath yet, the air still too cool but Niall bets the view would be epic. He runs the water until the window starts to fog up and he knows that it’s warm enough to duck under. 

Harry’s decorated it like a kitsch B&B, purple and blue shells he’s found on the beach and superglued to the cistern of the toilet and up onto the wall beside the bathtub. Niall’s careful as he climbs over the rim so that he doesn’t plant his palm there for balance, a few of the shells already coming away on the flaking paint. They’ll have to chip them all off whenever Niall finally gets round to repainting but the combination of condensation from the shower and old emulsion makes Niall unworried about it. 

He dresses in one of Harry’s old jumpers, the hole in the neck just large enough to fit his thumb through. Harry had decided that they should start leaving some clothes here every time they come, just a few warm jumpers and enough underwear so that they’ll never be caught short. There’s only one chest of drawers in their bedroom so it’s all mixed in together for all three of them to wear -- Niall, Harry and Zayn -- unlike their wardrobes at home which is clearly separated into two with Harry’s more garish shirts at one side and Niall’s stripes at the other until they meet someplace in the middle and it all gets more muddled. It still sends a thrill through him sometimes to see Harry wearing one of Niall’s crisp pale blue shirts. 

Here, though, it never seems to matter. There’s no distinction.

Niall pulls the cuffs of the jumper down over his knuckles and makes his way down the tiny stairs tucked into the corner of the building. From the outside, the cottage looks barely big enough for a second floor but the master bedroom, bathroom and a second small bedroom have all been squeezed into the attic space, the sloping roof making Niall stoop as he descends the wooden staircase. 

Downstairs, the hallway leads to a large living room and an even larger kitchen and old parlour. The rickety wooden rocking chair still sits in the corner beside the old hearth but Niall’s replaced most of the kitchen with a new one so they don’t electric shock themselves using the old cooker. 

There’s already something simmering on the stove, steam burping out of the pan every time the lid lifts with the pressure. 

“You’ve been busy,” Niall comments, sliding over to the cooker to investigate. He lifts the lid gingerly, his fingers sensitive to the heat of the metal and inhales the warming scent of fruit and spices. 

“Mulling some of the wine leftover from Lúnasa,” Harry mutters from where he’s chopping more dried fruit by the window. Niall hums, lifting a spoon to stir through the syrup-y wine in the pan. The bubbles pop on the surface and it’s fragrant. It makes Niall think of getting drunk, his head swimming in the mild summer night, the stars bright enough that he could see Harry and Zayn curled together beside him in the long grass. 

“Smells nice,” Niall compliments and sets the lid back down. He reaches past Harry to fill the kettle, making his way around the kitchen. “We should do some of the cider as well. For Zayn.”

Harry hums, brushing some of the fruit into a baking bowl Harry managed to sneak into their last trip to Ikea. There’s flour in the bottom ringlets of his hair and Niall reaches across to brush it away from his shoulder. 

“This will be some feast,” Niall comments as he watches Harry stir the fruit into the cake batter. “I hope Zayn’s hungry.”

Harry smiles wanly at him. “I’m sure we can work up his appetite.”

Niall snorts, presses close to kiss at the rough stubble on his chin. He’s been looking older these days -- properly growing into his face. 

Harry’s eyes light up, his grin turning smug but he keeps stirring his cake mix. Niall sighs, pressing his forehead to Harry’s shoulder for a moment, inhaling the scent of nutmeg and cinnamon. 

“I’ll get started on the fire,” he says, leaning back to see Harry glance over at him with soft eyes. 

He wraps up warm and heads out into the back garden. The grass is up to Niall’s knees with no one there all summer to cut it. The garden slopes upwards from the back of the house. There’s a pretty flat area directly behind the back door, tall grass and shrubbery nestled close to an old weatherbeaten fence that runs around the side of the house to the front. The grass gets denser as it approaches the slope, big enough that Niall would roll down it as a child but not too steep that it was hard to climb. 

There’s a path trodden in the grass already -- Harry’s doing probably from being up to see the sunrise over the lip of the hillock. 

Niall follows Harry’s winding footsteps, his feet slipping on the dewy grass. It smells wet and damp and salty from the sea but the rain has thankfully petered out. 

He makes a pile of kindling with brambles and the wiry, bare branches of the blackberry bushes tucked into the corner of the well. It doesn’t need to be too big but he works up a sweat anyway -- tearing apart branches and forming a pyre in the clearing amongst the trees. His palms ache from pulling the whitethorn apart. It’s boughs are heavy with red berries, the leaves turned crisp and bronze, gold, brown. He throws the branches on top, lining them up in an arch. He hates doing it, something in his gut telling him that he shouldn’t destroy them but there’s something special about how they crackle and burn. 

When he’s got enough, the wood as high as his waist he steps back from it, clearing some of the grass so it doesn’t catch light. From here he can see the sea again, the waves getting rougher out on the moving horizon. 

They crash against each other, sounding fierce and loud. Niall can hear voices on the wind, the whip of a word here and there past his ear to make him shiver. He stops to wipe at his brow, taking a breath as he hears his name on the wind. 

He inhales again, the air shockingly cold. The froth on the ocean looks like white horses. He stares at them, transfixed as if they’re rolling in towards the shore. One after the other. Again and again. A relentless, constant force. Galloping. 

Niall shivers, dread building sudden and fierce in his belly and he’s suddenly breathless, the hair standing on the back of his neck. There’s a change in the air. Niall can feel it palpable. It buffets against him, his chest aching. 

He blinks. Shakes himself. 

The sky above him looks dark already, thick clouds rolling in. Niall wonders if it will thunder tonight. If their plans will be ruined because they can’t see the moon. He glances back at the wild ocean again -- black, grey and white.

The kitchen is warm when he gets back to the house. Harry smiles at him and Niall feels settled again, something melting warm and liquid in his stomach. 

Niall presses his cold fingers to Harry’s jaw, listens as he squawks and complains but still pulls him into a kiss. Harry kisses him back for a moment, slow and softly before he pulls back to look at him. 

Harry stares at him for a moment, his eyes bright in the warm lights of the kitchen. He raises an eyebrow, his smile perplexed. “You alright?”

Niall nods, his hands shaking as he drops them to Harry’s waist. There’s more flour on his shirt, caster sugar crusted on his fingertips. The room smells of baking fruit cake and apple pie. Niall presses his fingers under Harry’s jumper, wills them to get warm again. 

Niall breathes out through his nose. Forces himself to calm down. He sometimes worries about how all it takes is Harry to calm him down. His presence is an immediate warmth soothing him from the inside out. He feels guilty for coming to seek him out like this but Harry doesn’t push him to talk, just draws him in for another kiss. 

Niall sinks into it, letting Harry warm him up with his broad hands on his neck and jaw. Sometimes, it’s as if they don’t have to talk at all. Niall hates that cliche - how couples finish each other’s sentences but sometimes, he wonders how they can be _so_ in sync. 

“I made soup,” Harry tells him when they draw apart. Niall nods, letting his hand linger on Harry’s hip before he turns away to the stove. 

Harry pours himself a bowl of thick, warm soup and sets it on the table for him. “Pumpkin?” Niall asks, inhaling the spiraling steam coming off it. He hadn’t realised how hungry he was, his stomach yearning for something suddenly ravenous. It smells peppery and hot. 

Harry’s pulls an apologetic face. “Butternut squash. Sorry.”

Niall smiles and rips a piece of bread off the loaf in the centre of the table. Harry’s exceeded himself with the food for tonight -- the kitchen is a mess and Niall will probably have to clean most of it up tomorrow but the table is laden with dishes covered in tinfoil and the oven is still humming away at Harry’s knee. 

Harry’s watching him eat, his arms crossed across his chest. Niall lets him, if it settles him and keeps focused on spooning the soup into his mouth. It’s the first thing he’s ate all day, his fingers shaking with hunger around the spoon. 

Harry catches him glancing at the clock, his face feeling hot at being caught. It’s getting darker outside already, night edging closer. Niall knows they’re both nervous. Both of them trying not to let the excitement and anticipation get the better of them.

Harry brushes his knuckles against Niall’s shoulder when he’s mostly done, his spoon scraping the bottom of the bowl and Harry’s seemingly pleased he’s watched Niall eat enough. Niall doesn’t raise his head, ignores the way the hair at the back of his neck is lifting again and mops up the last of the soup with a chunk of sourdough. 

Harry opens the oven and lets a waft of hot air fill the space between them. It smells of roasted chicken, sage and rosemary. Niall’s mouth waters despite his full belly. 

“Well done,” Niall whispers to him when he gets up to put his bowl in the sink. Harry’s fiddling with the meat, leaving it to rest and covering it to keep it warm. Harry grins to himself at the praise. 

It gets dark early, even with the clocks changing the weekend before. Harry throws a few scarves over the lamps in the hallway and living room, sending everything a hazy red hue and lights the fairy lights over the doorways. He sets a candle in their bedroom window, leaving the curtains open as it faces west. Candlebras stand in front of the mirror in the hallway, the flickering flames multiplied tenfold around the room. Shadows loom above their head, every sharp edge, every shelf, curtain, ledge magnified against the backdrop of the wallpaper, the gaunt faces in the corbels.

Harry arrives down after his shower dressed all in black -- a soft shiny looking shirt that looks like liquid when he moves, tight jeans that fit deliciously over the curve of his thigh and his arse, pointed black boots. 

“You look like you’re off to a funeral,” Niall jokes, poking fun at him to take away with how dry his mouth has gone. 

“Maybe I am,” Harry says, laughing as he secures a chain around his neck, his rings glinting in the low light. 

“Yeah, your own if you go out just in that. Get a coat. You’ll catch your death.”

Harry huffs out a laugh. “And what are you for wearing?”

Niall listens to the whistle of the wind outside and decides on a thick Peter Storm and the warmest scarf they own. 

“You better make an effort,” Harry says, as if he knows what Niall’s contemplating. 

Niall snorts and sets off up the dark staircase. 

Their bedroom is alight with candles -- dotted across the bedside tables and the dressing table as well the lone longstem on the windowsill. It smells of incense, thick with spice and smoke.

Harry’s left him out a shirt, the material spread across the bottom of the bed. There’s another shirt beside it, a soft pattern of swirling black and whites but he knows it’s not for him, he doesn’t feel the same lure to it as the one of the right. 

He changes quickly, pulling the shirt over his head. It’s soft, the material new. It looks nearly black but when he looks closer, turning the lamp on the bedside table on low, he sees that it’s a deep midnight blue. There’s a silver thread running through, sparking intermittently when it catches the light as Niall shifts, hands flattening the material against his chest and running his fingers through the front tuft of his hair. 

Niall hadn’t noticed him packing the shirts in the car before the set off at the weekend but he appreciates it, the soft silk against his skin.

Harry waits for him by the back door, busying himself with pouring a saucerful of milk for any cat sidhe that wander past. They’ll leave the door ajar while they’re outside and Niall hopes that none of them come in, he doesn’t want to spend all day tomorrow chasing them out of the house like last time. 

Honestly, Niall doesn’t know why Zayn thinks he’s the superstitious one when Niall’s caught Harry out doing all sorts of weird shit -- like walking sunwise around the well at the bottom of the garden at sunrise on his birthday for Imbolc or eating his weight in hazelnuts and salmon in the hope of being enlightened by wisdom.

“Ready?” Harry asks, his face alight with anticipation. Niall nods, pulling on a coat and then reaching for his hand. Harry smiles at him, pausing only long enough to drop a kiss to Niall’s mouth before they step outside. 

It’s as cold as Niall had expected, the wind whipping around them as they worm their way down the trail in the long grass. It’s slippy, Harry’s boots with no grip making him stumble forward into Niall’s back, his grip tight on Niall’s fingers. 

He laughs breathlessly against Niall’s shoulder, already excited. Niall can feel it too. The anticipation licking at his stomach, the thrum of something under his skin. 

The bonfire lights quickly, a sizzle of petrol and then a quick whoosh of flame. Niall stares at it, feels the heat against his face briefly before he turns to look at Harry. 

“Harry?” Niall asks. Harry smiles at him, his eyes shining. “Love you.”

Harry’s smile grows and his fingers find Niall’s, warm where Niall’s starting to chill. The fire crackles in front of them, flames spitting and starting to spark. They stand for a long moment staring at it, Niall’s eyes going funny with the light. Beyond, the fire soaking all the light so everything else feels velvety black, Niall can just make out the draw of the ocean. 

“Wine?” Harry suggests after a long moment. 

Niall nods, blinking and seeing the burn of the fire at the back of his eyelids. They settle on a blanket that Niall had taken out to the garden earlier. Harry’s stowed a basket beside it and it’s full of his treats that he’s been making all day. 

He produces a flask from it, heat thawing out Niall’s palms when Harry passes it to him and he goes hunting through the basket for two mugs. 

The wine is syrupy and sweet, spiced with woody cinnamon and clove and star anise. It settles douses some of the fiery anticipation building in his stomach, the excited thump of his heart too loud for the cage of bones around it. He can feel the beat up in his throat, down to the tips of his toes. A constant drum in his ears. 

Harry hums, his fingers wrapped around his mug. “This is the worst bit,” Harry complains conspiratorially. 

Niall huffs a laugh in response but he disagrees. The worst bit is yet to come. The worst bit is when this is all over and Niall can see the disappointment wearing on Harry’s face. The worst bit is pulling him into comforting hugs, rubbing at his back, watching those few days where Harry adjusts back to the life with just the two of them.

It doesn’t take long for Harry to get sleepy, the wine lulling him under as they stay close to the drowsy heat. It’s nearly twenty four hours since he’s slept, Niall can see the wildness in his eyes every time he glances to the side. 

Harry leans his cheek against Niall’s shoulder, stifling a yawn in the folds of his coat. His hair smells sweet and tickles at Niall’s nose. Niall reaches up, pets a hand through the ends of it. Twists his fingers at the nape of his neck. 

The flames are reaching higher, spitting up into the darkness above. His vision is red, orange and white. The branches snap and crackle, the hiss of the steam and water leaving them. The whitethorn burns bright, it’s fruits popping. It’s too cloudy to see the stars, the night sky unclear. They loom low above them, something dark and mysterious about how close the sky feels. Niall stares at the fire, feeling the hypnotic pull of it. The wind changes -- he can hear a thread of the playlist Harry put on after his shower from the house, the haunting chant oscillating close to far away to silence. 

He must doze off too, his head full and stuffy for the next thing he feels is a cool hand on his shoulder and his name, uttered too soft to be real. 

Zayn’s face swims in his vision for a moment, Niall blinking at the warm light on one side of his face, the rest of it in gaunt shadows. 

He’s confused for a moment, eager to roll over back to sleep if it’s a dream but he blinks again, fights the lightheadedness of being so close to Zayn to really look at him. 

“Zayn,” he breathes, Zayn’s face breaking into a relieved grin. 

Niall smiles back, his heart buoyed. Harry’s waking up beside him, all gangly limbs sprawled across the tartan blanket. His wine has spilled across the edge, Niall puts a hand in it as he pushes himself to his feet. 

Zayn’s hovering over Harry, one hand rested gently on his cheek. Harry looks peaceful -- his face serene, eyes closed. 

“Zayn,” he hears Harry breathe, the utter awe in his tone as he reaches for him, his arms opening wantingly to pull him into a hug. 

Zayn hugs him easily, his arms strong around Harry’s torso and he hauls him to his feet like that, all bundled up against his chest. 

Niall feels the first pang of sharp jealousy pick apart his chest. He worries the hem of his shirt between his fingers and feels the wash of red heat seep down through his face and neck. 

“Did you have a nice journey?” Harry asks, his voice hardly a murmur. The rush of blood in Niall’s ears rivals the ocean for space inside his head but he can still hear the whisperings of Harry and Zayn. 

“A lovely one,” Zayn replies, playing along with Harry’s notion that crossing over from the Otherworld is like catching the number 59 bus to Killiney. 

Niall leads the way back to the house. They’ll come out to the fire later but Niall’s fingers are starting to grow numb, the knuckles frozen in place so they pop when he stretches his hand in front of him.

Harry has a permanent smile on his face, pushing Zayn into the chair beside the stove, his hand lingering on his shoulder. Harry fixes him a plate, throwing Niall a coy smile when his back is turned towards the counter. 

Niall lingers at the doorway, the fairy lights and candles sending everything a soft amber. The kitchen swims for a moment, like Niall’s drunk off the mugs of warm wine. He catalogues everything by the wattage of Harry’s smile, the timber of Zayn’s laugh. Tries to remember it for later when he doesn’t have it. 

“Niall,” Harry murmurs, holding out a drink to him. Niall stands up off the doorjamb, walking further into the heat of the kitchen. 

Zayn glances up, reaches for him. Niall can feel his breath catch at the back of his throat. He really is lovely to look at. 

Niall grasps his hand, their fingers moving together slowly. Zayn smiles slowly up at him. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Niall breathes, falling into the chair beside him. 

Harry looks between them, his cheeks dimpling as heats the apple pie, divides it between three plates and spoons vanilla custard over it. 

Zayn hums after his first bite. He’s still got a hand tangled in Niall’s. Niall doesn’t want to let go. Zayn leans back in his chair, Niall’s arm going taut. He beams up at Harry. “This is why I love coming to this world. Harry, you are great cook.”

And that’s the first mention of how Zayn isn’t part of this world, isn’t _human_. Niall can hear the buzz of it in the room, the crackle of the undercurrent rolling between the three of them.

Harry clucks and shrugs off his compliments in his modesty. Niall grins and shoves his spoon in his mouth, letting the warm apple and sweet custard sit on his tongue. 

They found Zayn at the bottom of the garden, stunning in a way that Niall had never seen in real life before. Harry had been flabbergasted, all bundled up in a scarf and woolen hat pulled down over his ears. He’d been struggling with a cold, his nose red and running but happy to help Niall out exploring the garden. Wide eyed and besotted. 

Zayn had popped out of nowhere, unfurled himself out of the bushes like a flower opening to the sun and then he was there, rooted in their lives forever. The first time, he’d been naked -- in what Niall knows now was part of his original rouse. Niall was transfixed by the intricate designs tattooed across his body that now feel so familiar. Harry’s got some of them copied onto him now, Niall can see them whenever he wants. 

This time, Zayn’s wearing clothes. Niall can’t work out if he’s disappointed or amused. 

Niall’s hardly finished his apple pie when they start kissing. Right there at the wooden kitchen table beside him. Niall snorts, nearly choking on a mouthful of mulled wine when Harry melts into the table, his chest pressed against the wooden edge so he can reach Zayn across the table and kiss him properly. 

Zayn’s hands are disappearing into Harry’s hair, both of them cradling his head in what looks like an almighty deep kiss. Niall stares at them. Watches. He’s allowed too, he wills away the nerves in his belly and tries to enjoy it. 

“Upstairs?” Zayn asks when they break apart for air. He hardly sounds different, his voice just a touch rougher. 

Harry gasps, his shoulders heaving, totally affected in comparison. “Take me to bed.” 

Niall sighs to himself, shifting in his seat where he’s already starting to feel himself stiffen up. Harry shouldn’t be allowed to say things like _that_. 

Zayn huffs a laugh, kisses him again until Niall can hear the wet press of their tongues, the slurp and smack of their lips. It should be revolting but Niall closes his eyes, imagines that one of them is kissing _him_. 

“Niall,” Harry says desperately. “Come on. Come with us.”

Niall nods, pushes his half finished bowl into the middle of the table. Harry reaches across for Zayn’s hand, intertwining their fingers as they lead the way through the house. Niall follows them, something pricking inside his chest as he watches them climb the stairs together. 

Zayn keeps his head ducked, his free hand resting on the small of Harry’s back as he ascends the stairs in front of him. 

There’s that edge of strangeness still in this. Having another person with them when they do this. Another person seeing them when Niall sometimes feels at his most vulnerable. He doesn’t think he’s jealous, the heat pooling in him too visceral for him to really be too upset that Zayn’s here. He thinks it’s probably just because he’s not used to it yet -- the time where it’s all three of them few and far between. 

The bedroom is warm with candles, the sky pitch black outside. Harry leads Zayn to the bed, pushes him to perch on the edge of the mattress and stands in front of him. 

There’s a moment hesitation, just with the way Harry’s shoulders rise, the way he flicks his eyes up to see that Niall’s made it to the bedroom after them. 

“I’ve missed you,” Harry breathes, slumping forward to kiss Zayn and it’s gone. It’s all love there. All trust and anticipation. He’s smiling, his hair falling over his face. The candle light makes his eyes sparkle, his skin more pale, the tattoos more stark. 

“I’ve missed you too,” Zayn says when they break apart. He turns his head, catches Niall’s eye immediately. “Both of you.”

The invitation goes unsaid and Niall trips on the edge of the rug in his haste to get to the bed. A little thrill goes through him at the expression on Zayn’s face -- something that he’s giving just to Niall. 

“Yes,” Niall agrees, hand lifting to touch Zayn’s shoulder. Harry’s still pressed close, standing between Zayn’s splayed thighs. Niall’s leg bumps into Zayn’s knee, all three of them knocking together as Zayn pulls him into a kiss. 

Niall feels something swell up inside him. It nearly feels unnatural how quickly the want consumes him. He gasps into Zayn’s mouth, licking across his bottom lip. Zayn feels cooler than Niall’s burning face, his insides feeling warmer the deeper Zayn licks into his mouth, across his teeth. 

Harry whines beside them, his hand sinking into Niall’s hair and it’s all encompassing, two sets of everything -- hands, eyes, legs -- Niall wants to be touched _everywhere_ , wants to feel them on either side of him, both of them there together. 

Harry leans up against them, stretching his body along the line of Niall’s. Zayn’s still kissing him, trailing his mouth down over Niall’s jaw and sucking at his neck. He can feel himself getting hard, Harry’s hands straying to feel across the smooth silk of his shirt, the soft skin above his waistband, the dip of his waist. Niall arches into it, seeking out the touch. 

“Please,” Niall murmurs, his mouth moving and hardly a coherent sound coming out. Harry echoes him with a groan and Niall’s side is cold as he steps back to strip out of his shirt. 

“Watch,” Harry says, drawing Niall’s eyes up to his face as he unbuttons his shirt. 

He looks lovely like this -- bare skin and dark tattoos, covered in shadows and candle light. Zayn hums, his eyes sparkling. Niall looks down at him, brings a knee up onto the mattress so he can swing the other over his knee and settle astride his thigh.

“Oh,” Zayn murmurs, one hand coming up to settle at Niall’s hip. He cups his hands there, smoothes it down over his hip until his palm can cradle Niall’s arse. They watch, Zayn’s mouth going back to settle at Niall’s neck as Harry starts to undo his jeans, the sound of the zipper masked by the playlist that’s still floating from the speaker in the corner. 

Zayn nips at Niall’s jaw but doesn’t bite down. It’s infuriating. He wants -- needs -- the distraction with the way Harry’s turning kicking his jeans off into a performance art. 

“You’re teasing,” Niall tells him, eyes roving down at every slow inch of bare skin he reveals. His belly button, the thin trail of hair that Harry thinks looks cuter trimmed like that but can never be bothered up-keeping. 

“Yeah,” Harry agrees breathlessly. His thumbs are hooked in his belt loops and he pauses, face going tight as he eases his jeans down over his dick. 

Zayn groans into Niall’s neck, his teeth sinking into skin. Harry’s not wearing underwear so his dick springs up as soon as it can get free, Harry’s hand coming up to cup it against his belly for a moment. Harry’s eyes flutter, his thumb gently pulling his foreskin down over the head. 

“Harry,” Niall moans, dragging his eyes away from Harry’s dick. “Come back to bed.”

Harry grins at him, swaying his hips for a moment. He loves to put on a show. “I’ve been waiting all week for this. For all of us to be together.” 

Niall nods distractedly, Zayn’s licking over Niall’s pulse point, driving him insane with each nip of teeth. Niall turns his head, catches how Zayn’s staring at him. Niall rolls his hips, feels the catch of his underwear at the head of his cock as he tries to push his hips into Zayn’s body. The cut of his waistband is too tight. He wants to be as naked as Harry is. 

He reaches for him, wiggling his fingers and beckoning Harry closer. He manages to skim his fingers over the hot skin on Harry’s hip before Harry pushes at Zayn’s shoulder until he falls back onto the bed and Niall has no choice but to go with him, rutting his hips into Zayn’s thigh to try and work up friction. It’s not enough, all the wrong angle and too constricting but Harry flops down beside him, long limbs and soft, naked skin. He kisses at Zayn’s shoulder, up over his chin until he can mouth at Niall’s cheek. 

Niall turns his head, catches his mouth in a proper kiss. He feels the breath leave him, Zayn’s hand dragging his shirt up his spine, his fingers hot pin points on the small of his back. They hesitate a moment, dragging in mindless patterns at the base of spine before they dip down the gap in his trousers, burrowing under the elastic of his underwear. 

“Zayn,” Niall groans into Harry’s mouth, breaking off to breathe against his teeth for a moment. He wants to push back into his hands and he spreads his legs wider, his knee pushing into the inside of Zayn’s opposite thigh. Harry’s hand clamps down on his leg, his fingers squeezing around his kneecap and for a moment Niall isn’t sure what he’s doing until he pulls at him, lifting his leg up in the air until Niall feels the room shift around him and he’s put onto his back beside Zayn sprawled across the mattress.

“Let’s get these off,” Harry murmurs, hovering over him. Niall pushes his shoulders into the mattress, reaches to tangle his fingers with Zayn’s in the space between them. 

Harry takes his time, reaching out to deliberately push the heel of his hand against where Zayn’s bulging out of his loose trousers. His other hand is hovering just over Niall’s lap, his fingers slightly curled. Niall bucks his hips up, tries to aim for his hand but it just makes both of them laugh, the tension broken for a moment as Zayn turns his head and muffles his laughter into the space close to Niall’s ear. 

“Come on,” Niall says, curling his fingers in the sheets. He could just undress himself. It wouldn’t be that hard to shimmy out of his jeans from this angle but he knows that Harry likes this bit too. He doesn’t want to deny him that tonight when he’s got them both. 

Harry sinks to his knees, his chest catching the light. Niall blinks at him, his neck straining before he has to sink back down and lie flat. Zayn squeezes his fingers.

Harry undresses Zayn first, slowly peeling the ties of his trousers apart. He taps at Zayn’s hips, pulling them out from under him and down his legs. Niall watches, anticipation building in his gut as Harry presses his mouth to Zayn’s hip, to his thigh.

He’s not wearing underwear either -- something that probably doesn’t even exist in the Otherworld -- and Niall feels put out that he’s bothered with boxers today, the material damp and confining under the tight denim of his jeans. He flexes his hips, feels them again against the throb of his cock. 

Zayn’s hard, his pretty dick thick and casting a shadow over his hip. Harry wraps his hand around it, slowly pulling his fist up to make Zayn’s hips jerk. His fingers squeeze at Niall’s again and Niall breathes slowly out through his nose, trying not to imagine them wrapped around his own erection. 

Zayn sits up, feeds his cock into Harry’s mouth. Niall groans at the sight of it, feels a sympathetic tug in the depths of his gut. He can hardly look at him, the way Harry’s mouth is stretched, his lips red and shiny even in the dim light. Niall leans back until Zayn’s back and hip blocks out Harry’s face, all he can see is the rhythmic rock of Harry’s shoulders. The sound of his mouth sounds amplified now he can’t see it -- it’s nearly worse, Niall sliding two fingers around the base of his dick to ease some of the pressure building. He presses his free hand to the base of Zayn’s spine, feels out the taut muscles there under the hem of his shirt. He’s breathing hard, his shoulders rising and his hands are in Harry’s hair, gentle and easy but always guiding Harry’s head back onto his cock. 

“Oh,” Zayn breathes. “Harry.” 

Niall smiles at the reverence in his tone. He likes to hear other people praise Harry as much as Niall does. Niall lets his fingers wander, his nails skating over Zayn’s soft skin, over the top of his arse. There’s a dimple in the base of his back and then his cheeks part. Niall presses his knuckles into the rumpled duvet and slides the tips of his fingers into the cleft of his arse. 

Zayn groans, hips bucking up. Niall can hear Harry sputter, pulling off to cough. Niall’s throat burns -- he wants to feel something touch the soft muscle at the back of his mouth, wants the press of a dick against his tongue. 

“Are you going to come for us, Zayn?” he can hear Harry ask, his voice shaky and rough. Niall bites his lip, pushes his fingers further against the duvet in search of Zayn’s hole. 

“Yeah,” Zayn murmurs. “In your mouth.” 

Harry answers with a groan and Niall closes his eyes, pulls his other hand up over his face just to feel something against his mouth for a moment. He can hear Harry’s mouth again, wet and slurping as he starts to suck him off. Niall bites at the skin on the inside of his wrist, breathing through his bared teeth as Zayn jerks his hips again and whines, gasping sharply as he comes. 

Clumsy fingers start on Niall’s flies and he opens his eyes, sits up with the clenching muscles of his stomach. “Let me see,” Niall gasps, his hand coming down to pull Harry towards him. He looks slightly dazed, his eyes glassy. His mouth is open and red, come still wet on his chin and bottom lip. “Oh, fuck.” 

Zayn hums a laugh at his side, wriggling slightly on Niall’s hand which is curled uselessly against the firm muscle of his arsecheek. He looks smug when Niall glances at him, his smile curling up magnificently at one side. He pulls off his shirt in one swoop, his arms coming up over his head and the cloth disappearing over the side of the bed. 

Niall pushes his thumb to the corner of Harry’s mouth, smears Zayn’s come there and feeds it back into his mouth. 

Harry gasps, opening his mouth readily. There’s white still on his tongue but Niall lets him lick at his fingers, enjoying it. 

“Your turn,” Zayn whispers into his ear, pulling at the collar of Niall’s shirt. “Come on. Let’s get this off.” 

“Yes,” Niall answers, shuffling back into the mattress. Harry lets go of his fingers with a soft slurp, getting clumsily to his feet and kneeling onto the bed. The bed creaks with the weight of three of them, the iron bed frame knocking against the wall slightly. 

They undress him slowly, mouths licking and nipping over each patch of skin. Zayn bites at his neck again, trails his fingers down over his ribs and up to rub at his nipple. He can feel the knock of Zayn’s dick against his bicep, the head of it sticky and he’s hard again -- the perks of being a supernatural sex faerie. 

Harry bites at his hip, licks down the crease of his groin. Niall’s stopped trying to regulate his breathing, letting his lungs do all the work so he lies back, gasps up at the ceiling and gives into the sensation of hands and lips and fingers and tongues all over him. 

Harry mouths at him through his boxers, licks at the dampening patch of pre-come until Niall can’t take the heat of it anymore, his hand scrabbling at Harry’s ear to get him to move. It feels like a relief when Harry finally pulls off his boxers, his dick springing up gratefully. Zayn bites at Niall’s nipple making him arch off the bed. 

“Hey,” Harry murmurs, his palm spreading out over Niall’s heaving belly and pressing him down onto the bed. Niall groans, Zayn’s teeth scraping lightly over his nipple before his tongue washes over in a soothing broad lick. 

He can feel Harry’s breath ghost over his dick, the pad of his thumb as he presses it against the underside, just feeling him out. Harry knows how to pull him apart, knows how to push him right to the edge and not let him go. Knows how far he can go and how to get there. 

Niall sucks in a breath, feeling a buzz settle at the back his skull. Zayn’s shoulder is warm -- the only place Niall can touch and Harry reaches for his hand, pushing his wrist into the mattress as if it’ll stay there. 

“What --” Niall starts, gasping when Harry lifts his knee, rearranges his legs so he can fit between them better, an elbow on the mattress and Niall’s legs spread. --”are you going to do?” 

“You’ll see,” Harry murmurs, his lips bumping against his balls. Niall groans, working his hips up a fraction. Zayn licks across his chest, blocks out any view Niall had of Harry’s head disappearing between his legs. 

It feels one hundred times more intense not being able to see him. It whittles down to sensation, to touch, to sound. The wetness of Harry’s tongue, the press of Zayn’s teeth to his ribs. Harry presses a palm to the inside of Niall’s thigh, his breath hot as he breathes against his perineum. Niall’s breath catches, something -- a thought, an image -- sparking behind his eyes just a second before Harry carries on through, his tongue a hot, wetwetwet against his hole. 

“Fucking,” Niall makes out, his body jerking under the weight of two people as Harry licks over his asshole. Zayn huffs out another laugh, his body nearly sliding over the length of Niall’s torso a he licks down Niall’s stomach. Niall can feel his dick bump against his shoulder now, smell the earthy scent of his skin. He feels constricted under their weight, chest tight like a coil ready to spring. 

Niall gasps, twisting his fingers in the sheets as Harry eats him out, his face pressed tight into his groin. It feels dirty, deliciously dirty with every broad stroke of Harry’s tongue. He loves this -- knows Harry knows it. Harry points his tongue, wiggles it in the tight ring of muscle. 

Zayn scrapes his teeth against the jut of his hipbones, his palm coming down to settle on Niall’s balls. It feels like they’re everywhere, a finger wriggling up against his taint, Harry’s tongue lapping over it as he makes a mess. A hand tugs gently on his balls, starts to play with them. 

Niall’s head spins, weightless as he arches up against them. 

The finger works its way into his hole, Niall groaning and going tense. Harry’s mouth is wicked, mouthing over his inner thigh before moving back to his hole and licking wetly. Niall can’t hear how dirty it sounds over the rush of blood in his ears, the roar of it rumbling at the back of his skull. 

“Harry --” Niall tries to speak, can’t quite make words form on his tongue. It feels too big in his mouth, sticking to the roof of his mouth as he gasps for breath. “Zayn.”

Zayn’s mouth is a sudden heat around the tip of his dick, his tongue lolling out to sweep along the pulsing vein at the underside. Harry’s hand spreads on his thigh, fingers digging in as he pushes Niall wider. Niall can feel the strain in it as if he’d been at the gym, the thick ache of every muscle in his body as blood thrums through him. The backs of his knees are slick with sweat, the sheet sticking to his back as he arches off the bed. The tension releases in his chest like a dam, pleasure and heat and orgasm rolling through him in liquid heat. 

Zayn kisses him, not minding the few long moments it takes for Niall to kiss him back, tongue chasing the taste of himself in the corners of Zayn’s mouth. 

Harry kisses the inside of his thigh, mouths at the corner of his knee with his fingers gently cradling his calf. Niall’s muscles jump, his knee jerking in the air with every brush of his stubble against his over-sensitive skin until Harry leaves him alone and crawls up on his other side.

“Well?” Harry asks, voice still rough. Zayn snorts, reaching over to poke at Harry’s dimple. 

Niall hums, reaching down to grasp where Harry is rock hard. It looks nearly painful, red and drooling. Harry’s mouth drops open, the smile gone. 

Zayn laughs softly, nothing louder than a whisp of breeze and leans over Niall’s chest to kiss him. 

“And what do you want?” Zayn murmurs to him, licking at Harry’s cupid’s bow. Harry chases after his mouth, eyelids fluttering. 

“Want you to fuck me,” Harry croaks, hips rolling where Niall’s slowly working his hand over his dick. 

“You want fucked?” Zayn asks, his voice dipped low and husky. Harry opens his mouth around silent words. “Want me inside you?”

“Yes,” Niall answers for him, thumbing over the wet head of Harry’s cock. Harry chokes, curls up against Niall’s side. Niall can see the way his hair is standing on end, his entire body attentive and turned on. Gooseflesh puckers up across his chest, his nipples red and hard. 

Zayn rolls off the bed, dick bobbing as he prowls around the foot of the bed. Niall watches him, eyes drooping. He still feels under the fog of his own orgasm but his dick twitches against his thigh, Harry mouthing at the curve of his armpit absently. 

Niall smoothes a hand down over the curve of Harry’s shoulder, listening as Zayn rustles around in the bedside cabinet. 

“Do you want --?” Zayn offers him the bottle of lube over Harry’s head but Niall shakes his head, scratching his nails against Harry’s scalp. Harry sends vibration through his bones when he groans into Niall’s neck. 

Zayn licks his lips, settles back up on the bed behind Harry. 

“C’mon,” Niall murmurs into Harry’s hair, sliding them down the bed until Niall’s settled in the pillows and Harry’s on his side. Together, Niall and Zayn rearrange him, hooking his knee up over Niall’s hip so Zayn can open him up. 

Harry gasps, his thigh shaking under Niall’s sweaty palm. Niall shares his breath for a moment, watching the way Harry’s eyelids flutter and close. He’s close enough to count his eyelashes, to see every flare of his nostrils, feel every grunt and groan against his skin. 

When they fuck, he never gets to see him this close. Niall smiles to himself, brushes his thumb over Harry’s hairline. It feels hot, their heavy breathing mingling. Niall runs the tip of his tongue across Harry’s mouth, tasting salt. 

Harry opens his mouth on a gasp, his eyes flashing open. Niall glances up, catches Zayn’s eye over Harry’s hip. 

“Oh,” Harry moans, his fingers finding Niall’s elbow and clutching at him. 

“I’ve got you,” Niall murmurs reassuringly, brushing his lips against Harry’s. Harry gasps again and then melts against him, letting out a long drawn out moan when Zayn must finally give up teasing him and pushes a finger in. Niall clenches down on the phantom memory of fingers inside his own arsehole, feels the emptiness of it. Harry jerks, brushes up against the head of Niall’s sensitive dick making him hiss. 

Niall slides down an inch, licks at Harry’s mouth until Harry has enough concentration to kiss him. It’s a distraction for them both, Niall’s dick making painful attempts at getting hard again and Harry moments away from losing his mind before Zayn’s even fucked into him yet. 

“There you go,” Zayn murmurs encouragingly. He’s staring down at where his fingers are sinking into Harry’s hole. Niall can’t see -- can just see the jerk of Zayn’s wrist, the way his bicep is moving, his pectoral muscle. The tattoos across his chest ripple and Niall blinks, trying to focus to see if he imagined it.

Zayn uses his entire body and Harry starts to push back, his hips jumping back to meet Zayn’s fingers. “Taking them so well, H.”

Harry groans into Niall’s neck, his mouth wet but unmoving against Niall’s pulse point. He’s sprawled across him, his leg hooked up over Niall’s hip. Niall can feel the strain of his muscles, feels like he’s being touched everywhere by Harry’s overheated skin. He brushes a hand down Harry’s side, trails his fingertips over the muscles at his waist. Zayn grins at him, meets his eyes for a moment as Niall skims the warm skin of Harry’s bum cheek. 

“Yeah,” Zayn says, nodding at him. Niall mouths along Harry’s shoulder, slips his fingers down to bump against Zayn’s. 

Harry gasps, his spine going rigid. Niall has to do it all by sensation alone, feeling out a path down the slippery skin of Harry’s arse until he can feel the puffy edge of his hole. Zayn grins, pets at his hand with his free fingers when Niall reaches the right spot. A warm drip of lube slides down the cleft of Harry’s arse and into the crease of Niall’s thigh -- he’s so wet. 

They’re all breathing hard, the room unbearably hot. Harry jerks again, Niall’s fingers sliding lower. He can feel the judder of Zayn’s wrist, the in-and-out of his fingers. Zayn squeezes another pearl of lube onto his rim, smearing it over the pads of Niall’s fingers too. 

He meets his gaze, catches how turned on Zayn looks. Harry’s gone boneless between them, mouthing uselessly at Niall’s neck. He’s letting go of a constant whine, his skin pricked with goosebumps. Niall just tucks the tips of his finger into his rim, stretching him a little bit wider. Zayn’s knuckles knock against his, sticky.

“Now,” Harry groans, his voice rougher than Niall’s ever heard him before. “Please.”

He snaps his head to the side, looks up at Niall with wide, watering eyes. He looks moments from coming. Niall groans, his dick fully hard again. The rush of blood is painful, heat pooling dangerously in the pit of his stomach. He isn’t sure how Harry hasn’t came yet -- it feels like he’s been hard for hours against his stomach, his balls heavy where they brush against Niall’s skin. 

“Please,” Harry begs, desperation bleeding through his clenched teeth. He sucks in a loud breath, sounds hurt when he lets go of it. “Please. Zayn. Please.”

Niall closes his eyes, sinks a hand in Harry’s hair to pull him back down into his neck. Zayn’s fingers disappear, the wet head of his dick bumping against Niall’s knuckles instead. 

“Oh,” Niall says, rubbing his fingers teasingly around Harry’s rim. Zayn bumps his dick against them again and Niall grins, giving him a slow pull. He feels where Zayn lines up, the mess of it. “Now, Harry. It’s alright. Zayn’s here.”

Zayn pushes in on one fell swoop. The noise Harry makes is indescribable, his body going taut between them. Niall gasps, his fingers bumping against where Zayn disappears into Harry. He can nearly visualise it on the back of his eyelids -- Harry’s red rim, the thick girth of Zayn stretching him open. 

Niall lets his fingers fall away, Zayn’s hips coming up to press deeper into Harry. Harry babbles a string of incomprehensible words into Niall’s neck, his tongue coming out to lick across Niall’s collarbone. 

Zayn drives in again, pushing Harry’s hips against Niall’s and Niall groans at the sweet curl of friction. He can feel Harry’s dick, wet and sticky between them. They’re all too sweaty, Niall’s fingers slipping on Harry’s arse, against Zayn’s hip as he tries to keep them all together on the same rhythm. 

Harry’s useless between them, his body going boneless but Niall can push up against his groin, groaning when the rhythm between the three of them is _just_ right and the head of his dick bumps against Harry’s. 

“Fuck.” Harry bites out, teeth scraping against Niall’s skin. “I can’t --”

Zayn grunts, reaching a hand around to squeeze between Niall and Harry’s stomachs. Niall’s chest feels too tight, the weight of Harry and Zayn fucking down at him in a relentless rhythm. 

Zayn’s fingers circle around them, somehow finding them both and pressing both Harry and Niall’s dicks together in his palm. Harry chokes on a breath, Niall barely hears him over the roar of his heartbeat in his ears and he feels the kick of Harry’s cock, flexing against his as he starts to come between them with barely a touch of Zayn’s hand. 

“Fuck,” Zayn groans, pressing the cradle of his hips up tight against Harry’s arse. Niall hardly notices, orgasm ripping through him for the second time as he works his hips up against Harry’s belly. Zayn pets at him, drawing back and looking down at where he’s still sinking into Harry. His cheeks are pink though and Niall knows that he’s come too. 

“Here,” Zayn mumbles, reaching for Niall’s fingers. They’re slippery and sweaty, too clumsy when Zayn guides them back to Harry’s hole. Niall can’t find the words to ask what he’s doing and then Zayn’s rubbing them against Harry’s rim where Zayn’s come is starting to slowly ooze out. 

Harry sobs against Niall’s collarbone, his arms shrinking up to clutch at Niall’s shoulders. Niall swallows, his mouth dry. It hurts too much to contemplate getting it up a third time but the feel of this alone probably could. Niall pets at him gently, the tip of his finger slipping in before he lets his hand fall onto the duvet beside his hip.

Zayn looks down at them both smugly, appraising one more time before he pulls away, helping Harry’s leg down from where it’s still stretched up over Niall’s hip. 

They’re a mess -- come and sweat smeared across both of their stomachs but Harry’s already half asleep when Niall pushes him gently onto the mattress again. 

Niall still feels buzzing, the muscles in his stomach and thighs and arms jumping and spasming with the aftershocks of coming twice. Zayn flops down on his other side, curling up beside Niall. 

“That was fucking ama--” Harry says, words coming out garbled. His eyes are already shut, his mouth open and wet. It looks so red. Niall stares at it for a moment as he breathes noisily through it, his breathing evening out as he falls asleep. 

Zayn laughs softly and Niall turns his head, rolling over to see him. Niall can see the tip of his pink tongue. He smiles at him, his eyes drawing over Niall’s face. 

It feels private, something just between them with the way Harry's a dead weight pressed against Niall's back. 

“That was --” Niall starts, his voice dry and rough. 

“Yeah,” Zayn agrees, shuffling closer until they’re sharing the same pillow. Niall closes his eyes, revealing in the heavy weight of contentment settling across him. 

"I wish I could stay longer," Zayn confesses. "Wish these days were longer and never had to end."

Niall smiles sluggishly, pressing his face an inch closer to him on the pillow. 

"I wish the same," Niall promises him, watching as Zayn’s face is engulfed by his smile. "Think I might love you, you know?"

"I hear that all the time after sex," Zayn murmurs sleepily but he's still smiling. 

Niall laughs, kisses him in a way that's only really a brush of their mouths before they fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

*

Niall wakes to soft whispers and the sound of kissing. 

“It’s still nighttime,” Niall moans into the pillow, ignoring how a set of cold fingers are starting to walk their way over his hip. 

“Niall,” Harry singsongs in his ear, his tongue licking out to tease at his lobe. Niall shivers, pressing his face back into the pillows. He’s not sure how Harry’s somehow got onto the opposite side of the bed, but when he rolls onto his back, his hip lodged under Harry’s knee, he sees him settled atop Zayn’s hips. 

“Still bedtime,” Niall tells him sleepily, reaching up to rub at his eye. They both look suitably pink and ruddy. 

“It’s the afternoon,” Harry assures him, dipping down low enough to breathe over Niall’s face. Niall groans, pushing him and his unwashed teeth out of the way. 

Zayn laughs, body shaking and they both gasp, Harry’s hand flailing out onto Niall’s chest to steady himself. 

Niall peeks open an eye to look at them, pulling the duvet away from where it’s rumpled between them. “What are you even --fucking hell.”

Harry laughs, breathless and rolls his hips. Zayn responds, fucking up into him. Harry’s eyes flutter and Niall’s reminded of last night. It’s so much more distracting in the plain light of day. Watery sunlight streams through the window at the foot of the bed -- they’ve slept late. Niall blinks at it, wakes himself up. 

Beside him, Harry lets out a loud moan, his hand going up to scrunch in his dirty hair. Niall rolls his eyes and shuffles out of their way, his blood pumping just that little bit faster.

“Like bloody rabbits,” Niall murmurs, just to hear them laugh. Harry’s looking at him, his head thrown back slightly to watch over his shoulder. His neck looks long and lovely, his skin flushed. They look good together, sharp hips and all hands. Zayn groans, both of them moving at counterpoint again. 

Niall knows Zayn can do this all day so he leaves them to it, Harry on a mission to test his endurance. He kisses Harry’s shoulder and climbs out of bed. 

The bathroom is cold as usual, condensation gathering on the corners of the single window panes. He hops across the tiles, running the taps until it’s warm enough that he can get in. 

The water feels good against his skin, his muscles pleasantly sore. Niall finds himself smiling as he lets the water pour over him, thinking of last night and of the day to come. Zayn settles between them on these brief days -- slots in perfectly where Niall and Harry already fit. At first, Niall hadn’t been sure if he would’ve fitted so easily but sometimes it feels like Zayn was made for them, moulded to them. 

It’s chilly when he gets out, dripping water onto the tiles. He wipes at the mirror, smearing a line of condensation away to have a look at himself. There’s bruises purpling on his neck, across his collarbone, under his jaw. He stares at them, lifts a hand to press against them. 

He’ll have something for a few days to remember this. Like he could ever forget. 

Zayn has a weightless quality to him in the light. He hardly seems solid. In the bleak light of day, he hovers by Harry’s elbow as they dress. Niall pushes on into the bedroom, a towel pulled loosely round his hips. 

They’re both still stark naked, out of bed but still pressed together in front of the window like they can’t be apart for more than moments. The sun catches their sides, both of them radiant. Niall’s glad they don’t have neighbours close enough to see -- not like their flat back in Dublin where Harry prances around in his pants and half the world can see through the living room windows. 

“You’ll have to put something on at some point,” Niall reminds them, not quite believing the conviction in his tone. 

Harry harrumphs a laugh. “Don’t think we should.”

Zayn gives him a sly smile, reaching for his hip. They giggle together, their hands finding each other and Niall throws his damp towel at them or else they’ll go back to kissing. “Get dressed.”

Zayn wears his new shirt and a pair of old jeans in the drawer. He lets Harry do up the buttons, both of them sharing heavy looks in front of the window. Niall watches them from the bed. Zayn smiles to himself when Harry turns away, his profile bright for a moment in the flare of the sun. 

Harry doesn’t put anything proper on, trooping down the stairs to make breakfast in just his pants until Niall tugs on an erect nipple and forces him up the stairs. 

“You’ve come caked on your tummy,” Niall points out, setting the kettle on to boil. Harry smirks, opening his arms wide to pull him against his chest. Niall struggles, squawking at him as Harry pushes him into the corner of the sink and bench so he can’t escape. He’s warm, his arms going tight around Niall’s biceps so he can’t wriggle away.

At the kitchen table, Zayn laughs brightly. It should be jarring -- having an audience for their flirty messing about. This is usually what lazy Sunday brunches devolve into -- arm wrestling and poking at each other just for an excuse to stay close and touch each other. 

Harry smiles down at him, his expression utterly happy. Niall wonders if Harry’s thinking the same thing. How _nice_ it is to have Zayn with them, how a third laugh joins theirs like a harmony. 

Harry’s arms go lax around him until he’s cradling Niall against his chest in a hug. Niall hugs him back, feeling content. 

“We should go for a walk before it gets dark,” Niall suggests when the kettle rumbles to a boil and Harry lets go of him to make the tea. Niall’s going for standard Barry’s but Harry’s brewing up a herbal concoction he found on the internet that is supposed to ward off bad spirits. 

(“You’re not a spirit, Zayn. Right?” “No, Harry. Not quite.”) 

It smells like moulding damp and Zayn watches in mild revulsion as Harry pours it into two glass mugs. It looks very _green_.

“Cheers,” Zayn says bravely, clinking his mug up to Harry’s. Niall grins, stirring milk into his tea as they take cautious sips. 

Zayn’s face goes carefully blank, Harry’s eyes crinkling with the force it takes to fight a wince. “It’s lovely,” Harry says, his voice tight. 

Niall snorts, pulling two proper mugs out of the cupboard to make them tea. 

By the time they get dressed and sorted, Niall insisting they wear coats against the chill, it’s nearly dark anyway. 

“Can’t send you back with a cold,” Niall reminds Zayn, pulling his hat down over his forehead. “They’ll not let you back.”

Zayn pulls a face. “Don’t really get sick, do we?”

Harry scowls at him, sniffs to prove his point. “Wish I was a bloody faerie.”

The weather has taken a turn -- the wind blustery and freezing cold. Niall tucks his fingers into the cuffs of his sleeves and braces himself as they walk down to the back of the garden, the fire still magnificently lit and warm as they pass it on the way down onto the beach. It flares as Zayn passes it. Niall feels the heat of it hotter against his cheek.

Niall ducks his head against the fierce wind, his coat rippling across his back with the force of the breeze. The ocean is all froth, white and foaming as it creeps up the smooth, flat sand. The pebbles look darker, shells specks of treasure amongst them. 

Harry ducks to lift some, hunting for more to glue to the wall in the bathroom. Niall curls his fingers further into his cuffs, feeling the cold seep through the material. Zayn keeps Niall’s pace as Harry falls back, trailing further towards the wash of the tide in search of good shells. 

It’s nice -- Niall doesn’t feel the urge to fill the space with inane chatter. He keeps catching Zayn’s profile in the corner of his eye, the cheekbones, the ethereal beauty in his face. It feels like he isn’t real. He gets caught in a shadow, nearly disappearing in the dark. 

Zayn’s mouth twists into a smile, his hand reaching out for him without even looking up. It’s something Niall hasn’t quite worked out -- if Zayn’s faerie qualities stretch as far as mind control. Niall catches his palm -- it’s warm, the air frigid around them. 

Niall ducks his head, grins to himself as Zayn’s fingers squeeze around his. 

“You could stay if you wanted to,” Niall feels himself say. At first he doesn’t think Zayn hears him, Niall’s words carried off in the wind but he catches the way his jaw tenses, Zayn swallows around something. 

They keep walking, Harry oblivious behind them. Niall sometimes finds the urge to protect Harry from this, always waiting until it’s just him and Zayn to bring it up. He thinks back to their conversation last night when Harry had fell asleep, what he can remember of it. The softness of Zayn telling he wished he could stay. 

“Niall,” Zayn sighs, his fingers squeezing again. He finally looks around and Niall can see the guilt in his expression. “I can’t.”

“We could move if that’s what it is,” Niall tells him. “We could make it work if you can only be _here_.”

Zayn bites his lip, stares out over the wild ocean. 

Niall swallows the hurt in his throat, the hot nervousness bubbling up the back of it. Niall isn’t sure how it works -- Zayn has never fully explained it. It feels contradictory, to be by the sea but having the fire. The wind blows faster around them, catching Niall’s breath. It doesn’t feel right that Zayn has to be rooted here like that. 

“But that isn’t it,” Niall continues on. “Is it? You can be anywhere.”

Zayn’s jaw jumps. Niall watches him closely. He’s felt him before, knows he has. The feeling of being watched, looked over, looked _after_. Sometimes Niall will glance over his shoulder expecting to see him -- the reflection in a puddle whilst he waits a bus stop, his voice on the wind when he climbs onto the train, a brushing of fingers across his back just before he goes to bed -- but he never lingers on the thought too long, too scared to let himself. 

It’s not that he doesn't think of he and Harry as a whole already, but something settles inside him when Zayn becomes fully corporal. His sharp cheekbones, his nose, his chin. His sheer presence elevating their mood. 

It manifests sometimes as a longing. After tonight, for a while Niall will miss Zayn until he’ll fall to the back of his mind, Niall happy and content with Harry but Zayn always lingering somewhere deep down. And then it’ll pick at him, chip at his resolve. Harry’s pining will become a third person in their relationship as one month drags into two and then three. Harry is so happy to be forthright with it, open about how much he misses him. Niall will be able to read it on his face, feel it in his hands, hear it in his voice. 

Niall swallows it down, stays strong for the three of them because it seems like the right thing to do. 

It feels too calm, the wind nearly stopped. It's nearly warm, his frozen fingers thawing out in Zayn’s grip. For a moment they’re not on the beach at all, the lull of the ocean drawing away as the world narrows down to Niall and Zayn standing together, linked together by their hands. 

"Zayn," Niall say, the word feeling strange on his tongue. 

Zayn turns to him, his eyes sharp. Niall blinks, his face feeling wet from the spray of the ocean. Water laps at their feet, frothing over the front of Niall’s trainers. He hadn’t realised they were veering closer to the ocean. 

“Niall!” Harry calls, his voice carrying on the wind. It howls ferociously in Niall’s ear and it’s so much darker than before, everything charcoal grey. 

He turns his head, blinks up to the lone figure of Harry standing far up the beach. He’s too far away to make out his expression. 

Water seeps into the ankle of Niall’s jeans. “Harry misses you.” It’s a low blow, he shouldn’t be guilting Zayn to stay but there’s a desperation in it as night rolls in -- like Niall’s finally catching onto the clock ticking down. 

“I know,” Zayn says quietly. Niall looks up at him, catches his serious expression. He wants to tell him that _he_ misses him too. 

“I _know_ ,” Zayn repeats. There’s something resigned in his tone. 

Niall shivers, the wind picking up again. “I love you.” 

Zayn’s eyes widen for a moment, before they soften. He intertwines their fingers, reaching for Niall’s free hand. It feels like Harry should be there but he can feel his eyes on the back of neck, hair starting to prickle against the cold air. 

“I hear that all the time,” Zayn tries to joke, his lips pale and thin. 

“There’s only two people who actually mean it,” Niall tells him fiercely, his voice shaking with how much he means it. 

Zayn smiles, tips his head back and laughs up at the sky. Niall feels shaky, exhilaration washing through him. His toes are soaked, his skin freezing. He pulls Zayn closer, brushes his nose against his chin. 

“Let’s go back,” Niall says, pulling on Zayn’s fingers and leading him back towards Harry. He feels the sinking disappointment that he didn’t change Zayn’s mind. That he wasn’t able to do it. “Let’s be together.”

Harry gives him a questioning look when they reach him. His hair is a bedraggled mess, curls matted to the side of his face and hair pulled the wrong way over his forehead. He has his hood up, his face poking out of the material and damp with the rain and seawater.

“Wait til you see them all,” he says, smiling at Zayn in excitement. Niall pastes on a smile, still feeling unsettled but not wanting to ruin the rest of the night. 

The kitchen is deliciously warm when they tramp in through the door. Harry throws his coat at his arse and Niall tidies up after them, hanging the coats up to dry and kicking off his trainers by the back door. 

They strip off in the living room, Harry grinning as they kick out of their soaked jeans and t-shirts. “It is as nature intended,” he says as he hooks his fingers into his boxers and pulls them off too. 

Zayn laughs, pulling him into his side as they settle on the old sofa. Niall stokes the fire, lights a few candles and fetches the wine before he joins them. Harry raises his eyebrows at him, eyes glassy in the flicker of the fire. Niall huffs a laugh before giving in and pushing his underwear down over his hips before he sinks down beside Zayn. 

There’s a thrill in how both of them watch him, eyes trailing appreciatively down his body. The sofa cushions are soft against his sensitive skin and he laughs, the hair on Zayn’s calf tickling him as they tangle their legs together.

They make their way through the wine, Harry fetching leftovers from yesterday’s feast when they get hungry. They eat from the same plate, Niall pushing rich fruit cake into Zayn’s mouth and licking vanilla cream off Harry’s nose. The music worms it’s way down from the speakers upstairs and Niall listens to it under the roar of the wind outside, his head heavy and full. 

“It sounds like a storm,” Harry murmurs, his mouth red from the wine. He’s sprawled across them, his skin warm to the touch. 

They haven’t been doing anything, just being close together and sharing a few kisses. Harry had suggested a game of Scrabble but they’d given up, the letters falling down the crevices of the sofa as Harry kissed up the inside of Zayn’s thigh. Niall enjoys the intimacy of being naked with someone without the expectation of it leading anywhere -- even though it probably will. The slow, languid brush of skin. The way they can explore each other with just wandering fingers and soft mouths. 

Zayn trails his fingers up over Harry’s chest, his thumb brushing over the point of his chin so he looks at him. “You’re safe here,” he tells him, hardly loud enough over the road of the storm. 

Harry smiles, his cheeks pink from the alcohol and the drowsy heat. “I’m always safe with you.” 

Niall smiles at him, runs his finger over the damp edge of his hairline. The shadows change over his face, the wind and rain racing down the chimney to make their fire dance in the grate. 

It seems like no time at all but it must be hours later when Zayn yawns, his eyes flicking to the clock on the mantelpiece. “We should go to bed.” 

Harry frowns, his mouth shiny from where Niall had been kissing him. Niall feels bone tired, head light and dizzy. 

“It’s late,” Niall agrees, dipping down to kiss him again. He keeps it slow, drowsy from the wine. 

Harry licks chastely into his mouth but doesn’t push, the fight draining out of him as he slumps in Niall’s lap. He looks upset, his forehead crumpling. “Okay,” he murmurs, his breath sweet with wine and cinnamon. He watches Zayn’s face. “Okay.”

They blow out the candles and cover the fire, the embers smouldering behind the wire guard. Niall shivers as they make their way through the hallway towards the stairs, out from the bubble of their warm living room. The fairy lights twinkle in the window, reflecting against the pitch black window pane. Outside, the rain plinks down on the glass. 

He keeps a hand on Harry’s back, leading him towards the bedroom so he doesn’t trip. Zayn is in front, tugging him along by his fingertips. They let him settle in bed first, looking small in the middle of the mattress. 

Zayn gives Niall a long look as he reaches for the duvet. Niall matches it, feeling something tug in his belly. It’s like before on the beach, like the world is narrowing down until all he can process is Zayn in front of him, Harry by his side. 

Niall reaches out and brushes his fingers over Harry’s knee cap, Zayn’s fingertips at his hip. 

“Love you,” Niall tells him again, his mouth clumsy with exhaustion. Harry gasps softly from the bed, finally being close enough or awake to hear it. 

Zayn smiles at him, his face going soft as he kneels onto the bed. Niall sinks into the other side, both of them curling around Harry. The sheets smelling of them both and he hums into them, sleep already threatening to overtake him. 

“Goodnight,” Niall mumbles, his fingers trailing over Harry’s hip and Zayn’s thigh. He feels skin press against the small of his back, an arm winding over his waist. There’s a ghost of a breath against his lips. 

“Night,” Zayn murmurs. “See you soon.” 

Harry’s lets go of a small sound from the back of his throat, rolling over to press his face into Zayn’s neck. Niall curls after him, holding onto both of them. While he still can. 

*

Niall wakes to an empty bed. One side is bone cold, the other still holding the tendrils of body heat. 

The sun has hardly risen, the sky still silver-blue-grey. The moon hangs high in the sky, the storm clearing the air until it’s crisp and sharp. Out on the horizon, creeping above the calm ocean, Niall can see the beginnings of the sunrise. Lilacs and pinks colouring the lingering clouds.

He finds Harry by the smouldering bonfire. There's still a faint heat off it, enough to stave off the cold seeping through the thin cardigan and flannel pyjamas he had pulled on. 

He's curled in the thick grass, the dew heavy tartan blanket they had used on Halloween night around his shivering shoulders. His feet and calves are bare, toes curling in the wet grass. 

"Harry," Niall scolds but sounds too worried for it to be harsh. "You'll catch your death."

Harry glances up and Niall catches a glimpse of his miserable face. "Oh, Harry."

Niall sinks to his knees beside him, the cold soaking into the front of his trousers. 

“I just miss him already,” Harry sighs, clearing his throat and turning into Niall’s shoulder. Niall pets at his hair, pressing a kiss to Harry’s clammy forehead. 

An ember tucked under a charred whitethorn branch sparks, flickering bright for a moment. Niall stares at it until his tired eyes are sore. 

“He’ll be home soon,” Niall says, the flame burning bright for a moment. Niall knows in his gut that it’s not an empty promise. 

The wind picks up, tasting of salt. Harry burrows his nose into Niall’s neck. And the final flame finally flickers out.

**Author's Note:**

> Zayn is a Gancanagh - gean cánach- translated as ‘love talker’ - a faerie that seduces human women and apparently doesn’t appear in Connacht but if I’m using my artistic liberties to change the woman part, I’m changing his geography as well *shrug*
> 
> No matter how American TV shows like to pronounce Samhain (I'm looking at you Supernatural), it's pronounced sow (like cow) - in.


End file.
